


Ventures in the Attic

by Fudgyokra



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Goth Dean, Half-Sibling Incest, Humor, M/M, Mid-Canon, Mostly an attempt at characterization, Short One Shot, Since I've never written anything Venture Bros before, Teenagers, They don't know it, it's not explicit, teen rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 09:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10160318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: First of all, Dean Venture was a well-rounded, polite young man. Second of all, Hank's new friend Dermott was not.





	

He didn’t remember when it happened, exactly, but he knew it had something to do with what had transpired during the days that followed their fight.

First of all, Dean Venture was a well-rounded, polite young man. Second of all, Hank’s new friend Dermott was not. This was necessary background information for unraveling just what the hell occurred between them after Dean threw the first punch. Yes, the _first_ punch.

It startled himself just as much as it startled everyone else, but most importantly it startled Dermott, who did not bother fighting back and merely spat expletives at him once Brock had pried the scrawny redhead off the boy. Despite this less-than-stellar ending, it felt like a victory and Dean practically glowed with pride the entire rest of the evening.

The following day, to his surprise, Dermott came back, and with Hank practically glued to his hip through all the night’s festivities. Dean fought the urge to seethe. He didn’t understand what Hank saw in Dermott, but what really ate at him was what Dermott found all that great about _Hank_. He should’ve been put off by the fact that his best friend’s brother had hit him, right? He shouldn’t want to be friends anymore…or something. Dean wasn’t sure what he wanted to happen, but sneaking out with the two of them on Halloween night was not what he’d had in mind. It also felt peculiarly like he was third-wheeling on a date.

Until he went into the Potter house.

The subsequent days were not among his best. While he fell into a state of dissatisfaction with his life after learning the horrible truth about his cloning, Hank and Dermott continued on together as happily as ever, blissfully unaware of the secret that sat right under their noses.

Dean found solace in a little bit of old-fashioned teenage rebellion - something that intrigued his brother and annoyed his father. By the same token, it was something that attracted the attention of Bad Boy Dermott, which the new, confident Dean was all too glad to encourage.

His nerves bubbled as his back hit the wall, where Dermott followed, pressed on top of him. The two remained occupied for some time exchanging messy kisses and a few well-placed hickies, and the sheer satisfaction of his father catching wind of this almost outweighed the pleasure from the act itself.

By the time he even dared to consider going further, aggressive knocking on his bedroom door prompted Dermott to lift his mouth from Dean’s neck.

“What is it?” he called, training his voice to stay even.

“Dermott’s sister’s here, man,” Hank’s voice replied from the other side of the door. Before either of them thought to move, Hank barged into the room and continued his prattling. “But I have no idea where he went and—”

Though Dermott stepped away looking equally as startled as Hank did, Dean simply aimed an irritated glare at his brother. “I didn’t say you could come in,” he said matter-of-factly, to emphasize the point.

Hank only gawked, so Dermott used that as his excuse to mutter something and slip out the door.

“You were…” Hank began, holding up an accusatory finger.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Thanks for ruining it, though.”

Despite the other’s annoyance, Hank’s face split into a grin. “Holy shit, dude!”

And, despite himself, Dean allowed himself to smile back. “Oh, yeah.”

//

“How was your day, boys?” Rusty asked, looking around the table from Hank to Dean to Brock as they all enjoyed their dinner.

Dean said “Nothing” at the same time Hank belted out “Dean likes boys!” at top volume. His ensuing grin was obvious evidence that he expected an outburst, but what he got instead was both adults continuing to eat in silence. “I have proof,” Hank said, trying to egg on the excitement.

“We always kind of suspected,” Brock answered in Rusty’s stead, unable to deal with the disappointed look Hank was giving him. “I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious.”

When Rusty finally did speak, it was with annoyance. “Don’t rub it in, Brock.”

This time both boys gave Brock a look. He sighed and clarified, “He thought it was gonna be you, Hank.”

“Now I’m out ten bucks to Hatred,” Rusty mumbled, pushing his green beans around on his plate with his fork.

Hank squinted and wrinkled his nose. “But did you know that I caught him with _Dermott?_ ”

Brock made an “eugh” noise and carried his empty plate to the sink. At the same time, Rusty shrugged. “Just be careful, Dean. Always wear a condom.”

“Dad!” Dean exclaimed, leveling a glare at him that was dutifully ignored.

“Lame,” Hank said, pushing away from the table and disappearing into the living room.

Brock returned to the table to collect the abandoned plate and deposit it into the dishwasher alongside his own. “The Fictel kid would not have been my first choice,” he said, prompting Dean to snort and Rusty to seize up.

“The…who now?” the latter asked. Brock could tell just from his face that the gears in his head were turning slowly.

“Fictel. Dermott Fictel,” he replied evenly, scooping up the last two plates.

Dean excused himself from the table, and the moment he left the room Rusty turned to Brock. “Does that name sound familiar to you? I can’t imagine why, but I feel like I’ve heard it before.”

“I dunno, Doc.”

“Ah, well,” Rusty said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s probably no one important.”


End file.
